20 Themes
by Vuirneen
Summary: This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Livejournal. Current theme: A Natural Disaster. Yaoi Everyone loves KaiStern, Tetheus POV.
1. Immortality

Theme 20 Immortality This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Quote from **20 themes** "The 20 themes fanfic and fanart challenge was originally conceived by Japanese fandoms, in which fans create a set of 20 or more themes for a series/fandom or character or pairing. The idea is to write/draw a fic/fanart for each theme in a set, finishing all 20 themes, but few actually manage it." 

Theme 20 for Dragon Knights is _Immortality_.

Warnings: Angst, Garfakcy,  
Size: 4.09kb

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Some things are expected to last forever: the sun, the stars, music, love, fear, hatred, humanity, but not specific humans. Humans are one of those things that are built to fail. The body just falls apart, forgets how to renew itself and that's okay. Somehow people deal with it. I see them all the time.

Babies turn into children, children into adults, then their strength fails, they grow wrinkles, turn grey, fade away. The funny thing is that it's always the young ones that complain. The young ones want to live forever. The old ones know that they can't.

So what happens when you're taken away from all that? What would happen if you were taken apart, before you started to fade, before you'd begun to truly shine?

What do you have to look forward to, when you're stuck in _now_? What if there's something that I've missed, that I will miss, that I can never reach, because it will happen when I'm older? But I'll never grow older. Not like them.

I wonder about it. I watch my master, but he's not human - I can't learn about humanity from him and so I've made a study of people. After centuries of life, you need something to distract you and cleaning up just doesn't cut it.

Slice, stab, die - a young one fades as quickly as an old one, with the aid of a knife.

Cut, stab, die - they bleed, scream and cry, just the same.

Stab, cut, die - there's no difference in the manner of their death.

Stab, slice, die - stab, stab, die - die, die, die - nothing changes.

I used to feel superior to them, now I feel shackled. Every hundred years I take a pill and that keeps my humanity away. What would happen if I missed one? What would happen if I kept a pill and didn't swallow it? My master wouldn't notice - he barely pays attention to the world. It's all saved for his experiments. I was one of them, but I guess that I'm finished now. Maybe that pill _is_ the experiment, or maybe he just likes hearing my pleas to become a proper demon, rather than a human-hybrid. Maybe if I'd claws and fur and nothing but instinct, all this would feel _right_. Maybe then Lord Kharl would let me grow up and he could be my father, as well as my master.

If I threw it away, would I return to a normal life? If I ran away, could I grow older, find someone special and then die? Or would I zoom straight to death, missing out everything in-between?

Look at my tiny hands. They're not as strong as full-grown ones. Look at my body. It's half the height it would have been if Lord Kharl had waited another ten years before he took me away. Look at my face! There's no sign of a wrinkle. I've scowled for countless centuries, but no-one can tell.

Everyone human treats me like a kid and that's never bothered me. It makes it easier to slice, to stab and to kill. They treat me like a kid and I think that maybe they're right to. I'm older than the most wrinkled of crones, but I haven't changed as much as she has. I haven't learned as much as she has. What is the light that's in her eyes, but not in mine? What does she have that I don't and why do I want it?

I look at the world in a different way to my master and it's not because he's a demon and I'm a human. I think it's because he was born to this; he's grown and changed, but I'm frozen. I'm a boy. I'm a toy. I'm a doll and I don't know what will happen when his master wakes. I don't know if he will take all of Lord Kharl's attention and I'll be put back into a bottle or a jar - a specimen captured for further study. A preserved, loyal servant. Alive forever.


	2. Something That Is Unaccessible

Theme 03 Something that is unaccessible This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 3 is _Something that is unaccessible_. 

Warnings: mass confusion, mystery, the promise of immortality, Alfeegi angry, T/E,  
Size: 5.55kb

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One day he found a quiet spot and climbed up to it. He settled himself and curled up into a ball, then fell asleep.

The argument started as soon as they'd figured out what he'd done. Alfeegi was the first and the short Dragon officer yelled at him, before storming off for reinforcements. He returned with Ruwalk and Lykouleon and showed them what he'd found.

"He's crawled up there," Alfeegi spluttered. "What on Dusis is he doing?"

"Are you sure it's him?" Ruwalk said, shaking the long brown hair from his eyes before peering up. "He's not moving, maybe it's just a sculpture that's always been there?"

Alfeegi stared at Ruwalk, then rolled his eyes. The Dragonlord stepped past them, approached the wall and called out.

"Come down!" he said.

There was no response.

"Are you sure it's him?" Ruwalk repeated, stepping closer, but looking at the other two. "How often do you travel this way? I know that he's stubborn, but this is a little extreme, isn't it?"

Lykouleon placed his hand on the wall and closed his eyes. No-one heard any of the words he spoke, but a gentle glow suffused the Dragonlord's hand and leeched into the stone. He sighed when he opened his eyes.

"It's him," Lykouleon said, "and he's not coming down."

"He has to!" exclaimed Alfeegi. "He's got a job to do. We need him."

"What are we going to do?" Ruwalk asked, glancing back and forth. "I've never heard of this happening before. Have either of you?"

The other two stayed silent and Ruwalk continued.

"Of all of them, he's the worst. Once he's made up his mind to do something, even something stupid, there's no turning him. How can we get him to come down?"

"We should force him out," snarled Alfeegi.

"How do you plan to do that?" Ruwalk replied, pointing up at his hiding place.

"If we got a stone mason, we could reach him," he responded, rapping on the wall with his fingertips.

"And tear down the castle?" Lykouleon asked. "That's not like you."

"Besides," Ruwalk sighed, crossing his arms. "He'll just move somewhere else in the castle if we try, somewhere we can't reach him."

"So what do you suggest that we do, Ruwalk?" Alfeegi asked, as he started to deflate.

"I think that we have to wait for him to come down by himself. He can't stay up there forever," he stated.

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Word spread throughout the castle and beyond. Everyone who walked past stared up at him and many took a small diversion on their journeys just to see him. Rumours started that whoever talked him down would win enormous riches. The more time passed, the wilder the rumours got: some even said that the Dragonlord himself would bestow immortality on whoever finally reached him.

Nervous maids, excited Dragon Fighters, visiting diplomats and even unwelcome tourists all whispered, pointed and waited for a quiet moment to call him down. They pleaded for him to aid them by returning to his duty. They called on his sense of responsibility to Dragoon. They offered what riches they had. They offered him praise and a life of ease. They spoke in a whisper, telling the tales of their harsh lives, but nothing moved him.

The senior dragons tried different tacks. Ruwalk, embarrased that he'd been proven wrong, would look at him, sigh and quickly move past. Tetheus looked at him once, then never mentioned him again. Kai-Stern, fresh from some new adventure, was eternally surprised by his presence. Raseleane sat beneath him and softly pleaded for his return. Lykouleon smiled at him and said that he'd wait with him. Cernozura stopped by, from time to time and filled him in on the latest news and gossip in the castle. She figured that since he was there for the long run, he may as well find out what he was missing. Perhaps she thought that a semblance of normality would move him, but he gave no sign of having ever heard her.

Alfeegi had the oddest response. Each week he would stomp up and launch into a tirade. Alfeegi accused him of being stubborn, looking for attention, wasting everyone's time, placing the kingdom in peril and trying to claim too much on expenses. He left a little calmer than he arrived.

Things grow old, even for dragons with long lives. The visits grew fewer, until people forgot why they used to pass by. Even Alfeegi would shuffle past and not look up. He grew tired and dusty.

Lykouleon was the only one who never forgot him. He continued to look up, wave, say "still waiting?" and then move on.

It grew harder for him to pay attention to the world around him. Alone, curled in his ball, he ignored the world around him, as he was ignored.

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An odd scraping sound woke him.

Then a tapping noise focused his attention on the corridor beneath.

He looked down to see another pilgrim looking up, the first in ... how much time had passed?

"We'll soon have you out of here," said the pilgrim, a human with messy, green hair, before unpacking a set of tools.

He rolled up his sleeves, exposing a number of cruel scars and picked up a hammer and chisel.

The steady tap, tap, tap, of his effort vibrated through the stone and made ripples in the glass of water on Lykouleon's desk. The Dragonlord smiled.

"I don't think you'll have to wait much longer."


	3. Traps

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 5 is _Traps_. 

Warnings: action/adventure, Thatz, thievery, this is one for all those who play rogues in D&D,  
Size: 10.1kb

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_Just one more._ That one thought has sunk bigger ships than our Earth Dragon Knight. _Just one more_ is what adds the bag of gold that collapses the cart, leaving you with only what you can carry. _Just one more_ is what gives you stomach-aches an hour later. _Just one more_ is how your parents learn that you were at the dances and not visiting sick aunt Mildred. _Just one more_ was why Thatz found himself upside down, in the dark, hands and feet firmly pressed against the walls of a narrow chute. Beads of sweat trailed down his body, stinging unhealed scars, but he clung on.

The trinket he'd risked his life for was the first thing to fall to the darkness. He'd plunged a good seventy feet, clutching tightly to it, before his sense of self-preservation won its battle with greed. It took another ten feet for him to discover that the chute did have boundaries. His sense of relief at that discovery was enough to mask the pain as he jammed his limbs against the wall. The initial jerk was violent enough for him to let go. Luckily, years of training turned to instinct and put the brakes back on. He slowed.

The strong leather of his boots jammed in tightly, but his gloves were quickly torn to shreds and he pulled his hands away. His mistake crystallised as his centre of gravity shifted and he fell forward. While his legs comfortably spanned the width of the chasm, his arms fell short: with his right palm pressed into the wall, Thatz's left hand just touched the slick side. His legs held and he just managed to wedge his knuckles into the walls before he'd finished turning and stabilise himself, but Thatz was in trouble. He was now stuck the wrong way around in inky blackness, with only a panicked guess of how far he had fallen and no inkling of what lay below.

All of his weight was now focused on his hands. The strain played across his muscles, which was made worse by the blood rushing to head. Unfortunately, the knuckle wedge didn't give Thatz enough control for a body flip and there wasn't enough give in it to walk himself back up the pit.

"If I can't go up, I may as well go down," he said, thinking it through. "At the very least I'll be able to get my strength back and break out the tools for my climb to the top."

He didn't add "and I'll have a chance to rest before I pass out", but he thought it.

The slow climb down was tortuous. Thatz ached from keeping his muscles taut. If he was the right way around his legs would do all the work and he'd be able to use controlled slips to get down faster. Since he was upside down, the strain of holding his entire weight was falling on his arms and those shredded knuckles; his legs couldn't help. His body was being pulled downward with his own body mass and his arms shook with the effort of holding himself up. If his head fell under the level of his hands, it would all be over; there would be nothing bracing him and he'd return to freefall.

Thatz grunted. He couldn't hold out much longer. He had to do something bold and quickly. He clenched his fists and transferred a final burst of energy into his arms. As his feet relaxed and the full weight of his body rested on the fragile connection between his knuckles and the wall, he panicked. It was too late; his body twisted; his stomach lurched as it swung around the pivot of his hands: they held. His feet dropped beneath him and he grew light-headed as the blood rushed away from it and into under-used veins in his legs. Sore muscles twitched in new places, while his feet sought purchase on the rough walls of the pit, but they were too blooded and sluggish to respond. His arms, promised respite, now gave out.

A frantic slide began. Thatz pressed moaning muscles into operation. They fought back, his feet scrabbling against the stone, but with only a slight effect on his speed. A pinch in his thigh acted where his determination had failed. His feet remembered what they were supposed to do; his over-worked muscles took the strain once more and he slowed, then stopped. A great sigh left Thatz and he thanked whatever had sparked that final burst of effort: the phantom pinch.

He started a careful climb down, but something stopped him; his clothing was being tugged. Confused, he planted his feet firmly against the wall and explored the darkness with his hands.

The answer intrigued him at first: a cold metallic cylinder, barely an inch thick, rose from his trousers. He wondered if one of his tools had slipped from its usual place. Further exploration found the cylinder continued out the other side. Running his fingers up and down the shaft, he realised that it narrowed higher up. "Needle," he said, not realising what the connection meant. He touched the entry point near his crotch. "Needle."

"It entered at my crotch and came back out," he said, as he worked it out. "It only sliced through cloth and not skin, but if my head had leaned forward, as the needle clove through my pants, it could have continued straight through my eye and I would have been impaled on it." He shivered. "Nasty trap."

Pierced by the cold metal, he plotted his next move.

His first move was an attempt to break the needle and free himself. Without leverage it was impossible. After ten minutes of hopeless grunting he gave up and broke out cutting knife number three. Thatz's clothes were expensive and hard wearing. Cheap clothing doesn't last many missions; buying it is a false economy, not to mention the fact that you stand out when you've torn clothing. Thieves need a low profile. The thought of wasted money briefly stayed his hand, but fresh tremors from his legs moved him to action and with a careful cut, he was free.

"I was lucky to miss you," Thatz said to the needle, "but I bet you're not the only one."

With a hidden smile, he cut a scrap of cloth from his ruined trousers and wrapped it around the needle. He wound his legs around it too and began a controlled slide, keeping in tight to the metal and waiting anxiously for a second prick that would spell the end of Thatz.

He had to stop several times and shuffle clockwise or anti-clockwise to avoid new pointed threats. He also switched from spike to spike, once he judged the thinner, new needles could bear his weight. After countless shifts, muttered prayers and several new piercings, Thatz found his way to the ground.

He collapsed once he touched the bottom of the pit, but jumped up straight away. The spikes varied in height from the first monster, to ones only several inches tall and his bottom bled from the mini-spikes he'd found when he tried to rest. He reached into his bag and pulled out two solid blocks of wood, which he attached to his shoes. They were loud and they were clumsy, but they kept feet safe from caltrops and related hazards. Relaxed again, Thatz shuffled carefully around the pit floor, examining the spikes, the floor and the walls with his fingertips. He eventually discovered an exposed and loose brick. Removing it took a bit of wriggling, but it fell through and with a bit of prodding, its former neighbours joined it. The hole was just big enough for Thatz. He squeezed through and dropped onto the floor of a new room nearly twisting his ankle in the blind fall.

He was careful from then on; tip-toeing around and testing the ground before stepping forward. When he reached a wall he stroked it gently, searching for spots that were _different_ and jumping for joy when he discovered an iron sconce with an unlit torch attached to it. He pulled a tinder-box from his pocket and struck it. The sparks took hold in the straw of the torch and soon a spluttering light illuminated a dull, circular room, with a corridor leading from it. He scrutinised the sconce carefully, looking for hidden needles and triggers. When he found none, he removed the torch, thrust it through the hole in the ceiling and pulled himself after it. With the light from the torch, he saw the glitter from the trinket that had led him to his doom: a golden medallion, now proudly decorating the vicious spike that had almost impaled him.

Thatz returned to the room below.

A small click, imperceptible to most ears, sent him diving to the floor. Several clangs resounded from the wall to his left. Thatz glanced up and sprang away from the ricochet of a dozen barbed bolts. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, echoing slightly in the gloomy room. When he got his breath back, he stood up and retrieved the torch, which had been damaged and shone with half the light it had before. There were several other unlit sconces in the room and he approached the nearest one. Just as he was about to light it from his flickering flame, a strange scent caught his nose: the scent of almonds. He backed away quickly and cautiously checked a third torch. This one had a different design on its sconce and he bypassed that one too. A fourth and fifth torch failed his examinations, but he was happy with the last one in the room and lit it. He froze as the flame took hold, but nothing untoward happened and he breathed deeply.

Thatz walked over to the bolts which now lay on the floor, then pulled a cloth from his pocket. He used it to pick up one of the bolts. He held it up to the light, sniffed it and twirled it in the cloth. Evidentially satisfied he picked up the rest of them and stowed them carefully in the cloth, not touching them with bare fingers. "Waste not, want not," he said cheerfully.

When they were safely stored in one of his many pockets, he walked to the edge of the room and stared into the gloom, lifting the torch to illuminate the corridor ahead. It looked innocent, but that meant nothing. The traps that Thatz had uncovered before he'd fallen into the pit weren't a patch on the ones that he'd triggered since, which meant, of course, that there was an even greater trove further on.

Thatz marched on with a gleeful smirk.

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Thanks to: akisawana, lazy kitty, Ellabel and DragonessFei. I'm rabued!


	4. Afterlife

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 17 is Afterlife. 

Warnings: Yet another Alfeegi fic, the grim spectre of death, escape from remorse and regret, life's last gasp, melancholy more than angst,  
Size: 5.86kb

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Put two different people in the same position and you get different results. That's perspective. Tears, anger, resignation, laughter: it's all a matter of perspective. Even the same person can exhibit different behaviour, depending on how their mindset's changed. Just try asking the same question first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

Life is a journey. The destination is the same for everyone, so what's the important part? Why did it take me so long to realise? I had to laugh at the end. I had a lot of time to think, more than most.

I spent my life wastefully: time spent stressed, time spent angry, time spent reading through and sorting old expense reports in an attempt to estimate how far above the average each of the Dragon Officers had been claiming. Ten beautiful days were wasted in the records room. At least, I think so, when I emerged from the gloom, night had already fallen.

I shouted, yelled, screamed, planned retribution - okay, so maybe I wasn't that severe, but is it right to be so focused that you miss out on what's important? Yes, I was consumed with _importance_, but I'd defined it incorrectly. Does anyone really _need_ to worry about the petty things?

When I was young, I ran and played. I smelled the roses, then pulled off the petals and felt their softness. I rolled in mud and sang off-key. I never worried except about missing meals and getting to the blackberries after the other children. When did that stop? When was the last time I smiled and didn't mean it sarcastically? When was the last time my shoulders untensed and I relaxed?

I don't think that I've ever spent too much time with myself. My thoughts are always occupied... were, I have to start using that word... were always occupied with others, with their deficiencies, with how they made minor tasks more annoying, with how they didn't care as much about "the important things", with how they smiled and laughed and goofed off.

I never planned. I mean, I was always planning, but I was Mister Short Term, which is funny for a dragon. Maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe I was trying to fool myself. Maybe I was trying to distract myself from the reality of a life that lasts far beyond what should be. Heh, everyone is in the same boat here. I guess that what happened to Rath affected us all. To think that one of us would change, could change, especially one so young, so full of life. We were looking forward to all the things he'd see, the things he'd show us - a reminder of a time so long gone that few of us remember any more. Life is built on change, but no-one's comfortable with it - the older you are, the more you resent it. Change is good - in theory - as long as it happens to someone else.

Did I rearrange my life into a static facsimile? The same complaints recycled day after day?

Now I'm losing my sense of perspective. It wasn't that bad. I'm rewriting my own life to fit my current maudlin uselessness. I'm dwelling on useless things again, wasting time, but in a slightly different way.

Maybe I should write everything down. It might be useful, although the shock of my name on the page might lead to issues over authorship that cloud the content. Kai-Stern would be happy. So would the Dragonlord; it'd give him leave to sneak out more often. Maybe not. Besides, I don't think that I could grasp a pen, or write clearly if I had one.

If only I wasn't alone. I guess I need time with myself; I've ignored Alfeegi for too long, but I'm cold and bored of being the only one talking, err, thinking. I want to ask someone else if I'm right. I want to listen to their opinions, to say goodbye. I want a hug. I want to talk about something unimportant, something silly. There isn't much time left and I want to fill in on the things I missed. What could we talk about? Food? Girls? The local footrace? Clouds? Drinking? Girls?

Heh, I stopped playing with them far too soon. Girls mean change. Human, dragon, succubi - they were the worst. I don't know what you've heard, but stay away. It's not right to mess with girls' feelings, but I didn't know what I was doing. I was pretty clueless, never understood them, or their moods. One day I got fed up and gave up. So I stepped away and never learned the proper way to do it; the correct way to fall for someone and not have it base and meaningless. Why didn't I ask her to come with me to the garden at midnight and watch the stars fall?

I would have been a terrible father but I wish that I'd the courage to try. I wonder if she would have had a girl with blue eyes - like her mother.

I pushed everyone away and right now, it seems that I've got what I always wanted.

I wonder how long I've been here.

Will someone find me before the end?

Is it too late? Did I pass over and not realise?

How will I look; dignified or an ugly mess?

Has it finished yet, or am I still dying?

I'm finally unafraid of change, although... I wish... why didn't I have the courage not to be alone then? There will be nothing of me left. No one will pass down my name.

"How did things go so badly?"

I don't want to face this final step alone.

"I wish I could see her one last time before I go."

She would hold my hand and squeeze it tight.

"Before I die, I'd like to see her blue eyes just once more."

Just once more.

_"Alfeegi"_

What? How can it be you? Am I forgiven?

No. But thank you for being with me. I'm finally grateful for the company.

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Thanks Eikou, for reading. I'm not completely happy with this chapter, but I'm moving on.


	5. Origins

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 07 is Origins. 

Warnings: Young Rath, Ruwalk, Discomfort, Embarrassment and the origin of the species.  
Size: 4.88kb

Thanks to Schnickledooger. I read her story _Getting Adjusted _and I'm sure that's why I thought of a young Rath when I came across the _Origins_ theme. Reminds me, I really need to finish that.

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"You see... err... when a man and a woman... really, really love each other... um..."

The lean man trailed off before the gaze of the wide-eyed, little boy. He swallowed twice, glanced quickly around the gardens for some inspiration before gamely attempting to continue. "Then... err... they... um... Kai-Stern!"

"They Kai-Stern, Ruwalk?" the boy pressed. "Does Kai-Stern give them babies?"

"Yes! Err, no!" he replied, a trickle of sweat dripping into his eye and forcing it to close. His hands shook as he stuttered on. "I mean, I'm a little bit rusty. I mean, I'm not sure of the specifics, but Kai-Stern, well he knows all about it, Rath." His voice sped up as he grew closer to passing the buck.

"Are you sure, Ruwalk?" the boy asked, hugging a sword that was bigger than he was.

"Yes", confirmed Ruwalk, emphasising every word, "all about it."

"It's funny, because Alfeegi said exactly the same thing about you," Rath said, glaring at the Dragon Officer.

Ruwalk uncrossed his legs and then crossed them again. The grass beneath them was quite wet and had almost seeped through their trousers. Rath hadn't noticed and carried on talking.

"He said that I shouldn't ask the Dragonlord as," - the next bit came in a huge stage whisper - "they can't have children." He frowned. "Which doesn't make sense if what Tetheus said about the stork is true."

"Yes, why didn't I think about the stork?" Ruwalk muttered under his breath, before leaning forward and ruffling Rath's hair in a comforting way.

"I suppose the stork eats the cabbage," he mused.

"Cabbage?" Ruwalk squeaked.

"Cernozura said that babies are found near cabbages." Rath put his head to one side and scrunched up his face. "...so if the stork gets hungry while flying around with a baby, which must be heavy, he sees a cabbage patch, flies down, puts down the baby, then while he's eating, the couple steal the child."

Ruwalk's mouth dropped open. It closed with a snap as he nodded his head. Rath pulled out blades of grass from the ground in front of him and tossed them aside.

"Do storks like cabbage? I don't," said the boy.

"Lots of animals like cabbage. It's good for them. You should try it," answered the relieved dragon. He leaned to the side and surreptitiously felt his bottom. Finding an unpleasant moistness, he stood up slowly, keeping his behind from Rath's eyes and a remorseless teasing.

"Do all storks have babies, or just special ones?" said Rath, continuing the conversation.

"Only certain storks have them, that's why you don't see too many babies around," laughed Ruwalk, taking the boy's hand.

"Is there a cabbage patch in the garden?" Rath asked, struggling to his feet.

"Well, let's go see," smiled Ruwalk.

They wandered deeper into the gardens, heading by a circuitous route to the cook's vegetable patch. Rath rambled on, only some of his words coherent to an adult, as is the way of small children.

"If it smells, then we can give it to the Dragonlord," said Rath, giggling as he skipped along.

"If what smells?" asked Ruwalk, carefully matching his pace to the little boy's.

"Our baby," Rath replied.

"Our baby?" Ruwalk repeated blandly.

"Well if we find a stork and steal its baby, then we'll be its parents."

Ruwalk pulled the boy to a stop. Rath stared up at him.

"Don't you want to raise a baby with me?"

"Why do you want a baby, Rath?"

"It'd be nice to have a brother," the boy said. "I think... I think... I want a brother, so I asked Lykouleon where I came from. He went odd and sent me away."

Rath stared at the ground and shrank slightly.

"He didn't take it well?" asked Ruwalk.

Rath shook his head.

"Alfeegi said it was because I didn't have a brother. There aren't any other boys here, why'm I the only one? If I had a brother then things'd be better and Lykouleon would get mad at him and not me."

"It's not that simple," Ruwalk said.

"Let's go to the cabbages and find one!" Rath charged ahead, tugging furiously at Ruwalk's hand. "I can wait all day."

Ruwalk looked around and finding no handy bench sighed, and sat back down on the grass. He gestured to Rath and lifted him onto his lap, jabbing himself with the sword as he did so.

"Rath, you're special," he began. "You see, once upon a time, there was a demon dog named Illuser..."

"A demon dog like Crewger?" Rath said eagerly.

"Yes and they were great friends..."


	6. A Formal Event

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 01 is A Formal Event. 

Warnings: Spoilers, a wake, Draqueen gathers to say goodbye to a loved one.  
Size: 8.03kb

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The Great Hall was filled by solemn-faced people, both human and Dragon, uncomfortable in pinched shoes and stiff, fresh-starched clothing. They mingled, saying little, but nodding and occasionally grasping too firmly to each others hands as they said hello. Eyes glistened and even Tetheus was betrayed by a moist sparkle. His voice remained muted while he and Ruwalk worked the room and welcomed the castle's guests.

Despite the goodly crowd, a huge space was maintained around a low, round table, which was at the top of the room. Feet covered the many scrapes which bore witness to the speed and lack of care with which it had been delivered. The only ornament on the table was a long, upright crystal tube, adorned with the Dragon symbol of Draqueen.

Uptight castle staff, out of uniform but still serving, carried trays of wine in glasses. They handed one to each present and kept a glass for themselves. Vague mumblings began as the Dragonlord, treading heavily, arrived from a side door, dressed in an immaculate white suit and covered by a light silk cloak.

"Rath should be here. We should wait," muttered subdued dragons to each other.

They were consoled by Ruwalk and Tetheus, the two remaining Dragon Officers. "He can't mourn in public and will do it in his own way."

As the rumbles died down, Raseleane scurried up to her husband and pressed a glass into his hand. They spoke briefly and he squeezed her arm before they parted and he approached the round table.

He scanned the room, face impassive, as it settled into total silence.

Finally, he lifted his glass and greeted everyone.

"Thank you all for coming. I'm truly glad that so many have come together to pay tribute to a fine man and a loyal officer of the Dragon Tribe. He lived a longer life than he expected at birth and he made every moment of his immortality count. As he knew what it was like to be mortal, he understood in a way that many of us here today cannot, how big a sacrifice he made. I loved you, Kai-Stern and you're a brother that I will miss until the day I follow you. We have no body to bury, so this is our goodbye."

He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a simple, blue crystal ball. He held it up to show the room and intoned, "This was his duty. He fulfilled it exceptionally and always bore the burden lightly."

He placed the crystal ball on top of the delicate tube and lifted his glass to it.

"To Kai-Stern," he said softly, before stepping back and letting Tetheus take his place.

"Many of his missions involved finding and defeating demons, which he did alone even when he should have called for help." He lifted a thin, blade and carefully sheathed it in its scabbard. "He doesn't need this anymore," he said solemnly, placing it beside the glass stand. "To Kai-Stern, who kept us safe."

Ruwalk stepped up next, holding a thick pile of bound pages. "This is one of his travel reports, from the most exotic location he visited," he said, smiling while flipping through them. "He spent more time describing the countryside than the mission and I was extremely jealous. Now I realise that he was just trying to share the experience with me."

He put down the travelogue and looked up.

"To Kai-Stern, who saw the world."

Dignitaries and common folk alike shuffled their feet unsure of who should speak next. There was no defined order: people had just been asked to share their memories. Count Melgrin started to move, but was beaten to the punch by one of the castle's maids who still held a tray in her hands. She placed it on the floor and took off her shoes while she was bent over. She was too quiet at first and had to be asked to speak up.

''I think that every girl in the castle remembers their first ball: we share the same story. We started by nervously watching from the side-lines, feeling uncomfortable in new clothes and wanting to leave. Then Kai-Stern approached us and asked for our first dance. I know that I had a great night when it was my turn and these are the same shoes I wore then."

The shoes were left beside the table leg, then she retrieved her tray and made a barefoot toast.

"To Kai-Stern, who could really move."

A dishevelled and craggy-faced old man, the town's notorious drunkard, moved to the head of the room. His voice rang out, raspy and hoarse, but quavering from something other than booze. "I met the Blue Dragon Officer," he paused, "although I'd no idea who he was at the time - he didn't announce it. One day I was in my cups and he sat beside me. I ignored him at first, but he was easy company, you know? Eventually we drank together in every inn in the city. He passed on a lot of good whiskey, gifts from his travels. I... Friends are hard for me."

He lifted his glass and laid it on the table, then raised an empty hand.

"To Kai-Stern, who liked a drink."

"I always hoped that he'd marry my daughter." The speaker was a blonde duchess in a red velvet dress. She wore a faint smile and carried a covered dish. "It wasn't because of his title or closeness to the Dragonlord - he was just a good man, who should have made a girl very happy." A blush spread across her face, even though the make-up. "When I was younger I'd hoped to be that girl. I spent hours in the kitchen, learning to bake, thinking that I could win him through his stomach and I forced him to eat only my food when he visited my parents." She added the dish to the memorial. "Some of my recipes were rather unusual and none of my testers ate more than they could get away with. He never complained."

"To Kai-Stern, who loved my cooking."

A pretty girl in a simple lilac dress carried a deep red rose. She took in its fragrance before giving it up. "I got one of these every birthday from the age of sixteen."

"To Kai-Stern, who was incurably romantic."

A crone, bent with the weight of a century hobbled to the table. She took a small pot of lip-colouring and gave it to the memorial. Her voice quavered as she spoke.

"To Kai-Stern, who never stopped smiling."

Everyone recognised the plump burgher who came next - he was one of the nicest people in the town. "When I was younger, I really liked this girl. I talked the ear off anyone that'd listen, but I hadn't the courage to let her know how I felt. She worked in the grocery and smiled at me whenever I came in. She always gave me a strawberry when the first baskets of the year came in. Anyhow, Kai liked her too and he made a bet on which of us would win her heart. I bought sixty separate apples in that shop before I asked her out." His eyes lit up. "She said yes and again a year later when I asked her to marry me. I only found out at the wedding that they'd never met."

"To Kai-Stern, who owes me three fifty."

After each speaker, the common refrain rang out, "to Kai-Stern" and no one broke down, until it was the turn of a small girl in a pristine white dress with the slip showing. She clutched tightly to a painting, all blobs of colour. Her feet dragged and she began to cry before even reaching the table. She dropped the picture beside a basket of fruit and ran, without explaining the feeling behind it.

It took several hours for everyone to speak and the pile of memories on the table grew. Some of the larger keepsakes were placed under it and the small ones were continually moved as the danger of their destruction grew.

When the line of people wishing to say their piece had been exhausted, Lady Raseleane took her turn. She carried a carved toy, some sort of dog, and addressed the crowd. "This was Rath's," she called, before adding it to the pile. "He loved Rath as much as the rest of us and we understand why he chose to do what he did. That is why we cannot mourn him." She then raised the glass in her right hand and toasted the room.

"To Kai-Stern."

"TO KAI-STERN!"


	7. Innocence

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 15 is _Innocence_. 

Warnings: Rath, Kai-Stern, and wanting to be older. Implied shonen-ai.  
Size: 4.97kb

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Innocence is strange, as it's only defined by what's lacking - knowledge, experience, dirty thoughts. Innocence is a blank slate - a stage of not knowing. Innocents are regarded for their purity and made fun of for their naivety. They should be boring and blank, like a doll with undrawn features or a pile of mud that's yet to be sculpted into art or delph, but innocents seem happy. None of their potential has been washed away. None of their personality has been cast in the fire. Innocents can still be anything they want.

"Innocent," said Rath, "is just another word for stupid."

Kai-Stern looked up from his book and smiled, but said nothing. The garden alcove was a good place to talk privately and Rath often sought him out there, when something was bothering the young dragon.

"Innocents blunder into everything, ask 'what's that?', pull at a drawer and are suddenly covered in muck. Then they're no longer innocent: they're bold." Rath folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against a nearby pillar. He glared into the garden, scanning it carefully before talking again. "When someone says 'You're innocent', they mean: 'I'm much smarter than you'. They mean: 'You can't be trusted'. They mean: 'This is too much fun for the likes of you'."

As he spoke, his gaze rolled around to Kai-Stern who buried his face in his book.

"What's the opposite of innocent?" he asked. "Is it nothing? To match the essential state of innocence?"

"Innocent has many meanings," answered Kai-Stern, firmly looking down. "So there are many opposites, but all of them have one thing in common: they regret not being innocent."

Rath snorted. "Indeed, in every fight with a demon, how I wish that I was innocent of how to use my sword."

Kai-Stern laughed gently and looked up. "How would you feel if you didn't have to - if you didn't feel the urge to kill and cover your hands in blood - if you didn't want to be hit in return?"

"Then someone else would have to fight and they'd die in my place," he answered with a shrug.

The sides of Kai-Stern's mouth turned down and it took a moment for him to speak again. "Don't you mean, 'they'd kill in my place'?"

Rath dismissed him with a wave of his hands. "You know what I meant. That's not the only thing that annoys me either."

The light didn't quite return to the white-haired dragon as he attempted a softer tone. "And what has joined the very long list of things that annoy you?"

Rath suddenly leered at his friend and while Kai-Stern blinked he lowered himself to the ground. Twitching his lips, he crawled sinuously along the dusty stone until he reached Kai-Stern's nose and leaning in, whispered, "Everyone's acting oddly: Raseleane and Lykouleon, Alfeegi and Ruwalk, Thatz and Rune, they're all doing stuff like this. Of course, when I ask what's hit them in the brain they shuffle off and if they're pressed they say that I wouldn't understand because I'm too innocent."

A small flower, somehow making a life for itself poking through the cracks of the wall above their heads, wilted in the heat coming from Kai-Stern.

"Well," he coughed. "Ahem! Yes, well, when you go through... when you grow up... there's a physical... you'll understand when you're older."

Rath leaned in closer and hissed, "I **am **older."

"Okay yes, well, how do I explain then?" Kai-Stern breathed in deeply, the musky scent of Rath particularly strong right then. "It's love. That's it."

"Love?" snapped Rath.

Kai-Stern put down his book and moved away from Rath. His hands flickered out in complicated gestures as stood up, then sat back down again. "One day, you'll find yourself... thinking about another person."

Rath waited, sitting in the spot Kai-Stern had vacated.

"You won't be thinking about stupid things they've done, or something that you've planned together or something you want to talk to them about... you'll just be thinking about them. When that happens: you're in love."

"What about the weird stuff?" Rath ran his hands up and down his body, then turned his back on Kai-Stern before looking over his shoulder and pressing his lips into a pout.

"Yes, well, that happens when you find out that they think about you too. Lots of weird things happen when you find out that someone loves you."

"I love you," said Rath, shuffling up to Kai-Stern and putting his arms around him.

Kai-Stern petted him and smiled. "You won't understand until you experience it yourself, Rath. That's when all the weird stuff will make sense. What you feel for me is a different kind of love."

He held Rath for a while, before Alfeegi's call roused him and he retrieved his book and said goodbye. Rath watched him go.

"A different kind of love? Kai-Stern, sometimes I think that you're the innocent one here."


	8. Possession

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 14 is _Possession_. 

Warnings: An incredibly bitter attitude, violence, language, apparent Cesia bashing, what can you do when someone else is leading your life?  
Size: 4.94kb

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Life sucks, thanks to the all-conquering Queen Cesia of this backwater dump. Oh, there she goes. Watch her! Watch the lovely Cesia, lady of Draqueen. Such a moron, she makes me sick. She thinks she's worth something, but covers it up with vomit-inducing false modesty. Oh, don't be fooled: she prances around, full of herself, taking it all for granted, princess of the world - the snooty little madam.

She lies, to herself, to everyone. Look, she's crossed the floor and is talking to Rath. She thinks she's just being kind. She thinks she's being friendly. She says that over and over in her head, until she almost believes it herself. Still, have you noticed that she's blushing? Have you noticed that her breathing's a little faster than normal? Have you noticed how close she stands to him? Have you noticed that every time she talks to him, she reaches out a lily white hand and pats him? Oh, of course she doesn't care for him. Of course she's got no romantic interest in him. Of course she's too busy with her hectic life, her full schedule and her self obsession. Watch her. She's going to throw the Dragonlord's kindness in his face by leaving the important token position she's been given so that she can pursue her own selfish ends. Wonder why she's doing it? Have you noticed how many of her dreams are of Rath?

Rath, Rath, Rath, Rath, Rath. I'd love to crush him into tiny pieces. I'd love to take his head and squish it soundly - that might destroy her. His death - if it was suitably painful and pitiful - might drive her over the edge, cause her to hide away and never come out again. Then I could shine. If I was her, I wouldn't waste any time. She's got a devastating body: men are looking at her, but if I had it, they'd be drooling. Just a wiggle here, and a wiggle there and the attention of the entire room would be on me. Even that little puppy of hers would be licking my feet. Still, why settle for just one, and not even the most powerful person in the room? Kings should lay tribute at my feet. If I had the power - Cesia's power to increase the ability of others - I'd demand a high price for my allegiance.

But mostly, I'd have a lot of fun.

There's a lot of things on my list to do when I get out of here. I want to kill someone, maybe some of her close friends, perhaps that Zoma - since Bierrez, the love-sick fool, is already dead. Then once I'd kicked his body several times for good measure and raised his head on a pike, I'd see what sex is like. I think I'd take the Dragonlord - he's the most strongest and is a worthy match. What else is on the list? I want to eat: not just human flesh, but strawberries, cakes, everything she enjoys and I can't taste. I want to touch, to feel. I want allies... no minions: I want underlings at my beck and call. I want control over other people's lives. I want worship and loyalty and praise.

Why do I have to spend every waking minute following what she does? If I could do anything else I would. If I could spend my life watching anyone other than that simpering witch, I'd snatch it in a heartbeat. I hate her. I even hate her more than the whimpering cry-baby in the corner. Ignore her, she's just looking for attention. Her kind like to be tragic: they think that suffering is noble. She's happy to be bound, ignore the tears, they're only there for show. She likes being held captive by Cesia.

I hate it. I'm trapped with someone I can't stand, forced to watch her make a mockery of the life that should be mine. Forced to see her simple, faltering steps. Forced to bear her lowly ambitions. Forced to endure her limited intellect and her boring friends. Forced to hear her thoughts. Forced to see her happy and free: my jailer.

I hate her because she's strong enough to keep me here, although the one-eyed witch, that fat bitch, set it up. She couldn't control us, so she forced me and the weeping willow out and put Cesia in charge. Cesia was so happy and cloyingly helpful: if she was going to be a witch's pet she wanted to be the best one in the world. I don't know if she only pretended to have forgotten about us, but she knows that we're trapped here now and she doesn't want to redress the balance. She wants to stay in charge, so I'll do the same to her when I get out. I'll push her so far down that she'll not see anything or even hear my thoughts. She'll be trapped in a world of claustrophobic darkness, while I destroy everything that she's built.

I deserve it! I've been tricked! I've been trapped here and it's not fair. Why should she get to possess my body? Somehow, I've got to get out and when I regain control of my body, everything she holds dear should watch out.

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The Happy Stalker Ball, don't worry about spamming my review thing, as I really like getting reviews - the more the merrier. I also forgot to post this response earlier to Pachiri's (DragonessFei) question, in case anyone else was wondering:

"Try a different tack", which I thought sounded nicer than "try a different tactic", is a nautical term that entered into common usage. In order to sail into the wind, you "tack" the sails, so if you weren't making much headway, you might try a different tack, get a different angle on the wind and hopefully sail a little faster.

At least, I'm assuming that's where it comes from, I could be wrong.


	9. Emotionally Shattered

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 11 is _Emotionally Shattered_. 

Warnings: Rune/Tintlett, the Dragon Knights try to cheer up a mopey Rune.

Size: 7.33kb

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It was a cyclical thing, but only a few recognised it. The first sign was Rune's long, blonde hair gaoing limp, the second was his lack of response to provocation and when he took to staring into the pool without moving, the mood, or whatever it was, was in full swing.

A full year of hectic adventuring passed before misery returned and once more Rune trudged through life, every action a burden. His wearisome sighs echoed heavily on his friends' ears.

"I'm sick of his moping!" moaned Rath, stomping up and down the corridor and throwing glances at Thatz. The green-haired thief leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"What can we do?" he asked. "Rune'll snap out of it eventually."

"I know that," snarled Rath, "But when? He's driving me mad. Even if I avoid him, I can _feel _him."

"_The sense of melancholy reaches out from where he sighs _and soils your fun, eh?" Thatz grimaced. "I don't know if it's a mystic connection, but his moods affect me too."

"You think that Lykouleon might be to blame?" growled Rath, after stopping in his tracks.

Thatz frowned at the Fire Knight. "The _Dragonlord_ isn't causing Rune's pain, but he might know why it affects us too."

"We'll look stupid if he turns and tells us that it's because we love Rune," said Rath, punching the wall beside him.

"You're right." Thatz coughed into his hand and blushed slightly. "I miss him when he's not around. I guess you don't realise how much someone means to you, until they leave, or are in pain. He's annoying, but Rune makes diverting the mission more challenging and that makes the loot much sweeter."

Rath frowned before raising his eyebrows and walking back up to Thatz.

"We need to look at this a new way," he said, clenching his fist. "If Rune can make us sad, then maybe we can make him feel better by having as much fun as we can!"

"I like it!" beamed Thatz. "I'll start right away in the Fighter's Club. Oh," he cried, restraining Rath with a gentle pinch on his shirt -sleeve. "Do you have any stake money? I'm all out."

"Fool me once, shame on me," replied Rath, shaking him off and walking away.

oooOOOooo

Rune was in the middle of a very good mope and about to start on a small bout of pouting, when he was scooped up from the ground by Rath and Thatz. The poor guy's feet flicked out and dropped into the cold water: Rune's reflexes couldn't save his shoes and they were soaked.

He sighed and went limp, noting the gouges in the grass caused by the weight of his feet. His kidnappers remained grimly silent, determinedly marching onwards. They hauled Rune through the gardens, into the castle itself and Rune had grown mildly curious when he was unceremoniously plonked at the head of a table in the dining room. The table was heaped with food: bowls of strawberries, thick slices of chocolate cakes, melting scoops of ice-cream, steaming pies, savoury tarts, mouth-watering spicy concoctions, sausages on sticks, jugs of rich sauces, decanters of wine, mead and fruit juices. Nervous heads peeked out through the door, lining up evenly, one on top of another, all watching Rune.

He picked at a plate of carrot sticks, ignoring the chocolate, caramel, chilli and even the caramel-chilli dips ranged about it in a semi-circle.

Thatz shook. It started as a minor vibration, almost imperceptible, but when Rune reached right over the cherry gateau to grab a stick of celery, the table quivered in harmony.

"Right, that's enough!" he shouted, reaching out to Rune. Rath took the other end and a moan from the disappointed chefs spurred them on their way.

The food didn't go to waste, but somehow, it didn't taste as sweet as it should and the party ended early, with everyone sober.

Their next stop was the sparring grounds. Rune didn't protest as Rath pressed a light, wooden blade into his hand, but it took some balancing until Rune would stand unaided: he seemed to melt into first Rath's embrace and then Thatz's. They gritted their teeth and kept at it, until he gave up.

With a nod to his partner, Rath grabbed up a matching sword and marked off three paces. He saluted Rune and launched into an immediate attack, which landed firmly on the unresisting Water Knight. Rath sprang back. Rune swayed, but stayed upright, so Rath attacked again: the blonde wavered in place, holding his wooden sword, but refusing to parry.

Rath swung in ever larger arcs, slowing down to the pace of a snail, but still Rune ignored him, standing glaze-eyed, without registering a thing that happened. Rath finally stomped up and started poking him with the tip of his sword.

"Rune? Rune? ROOOOOOOOO-un?" he cried, his prods growing stronger.

Thatz eventually stalked up and plucked the sword from Rath's hand. He shook his head and Rath nodded. They picked Rune up again and moved on.

The sword in his hand dipped lower and lower and was eventually lost when it caught on a bramble and fell from his unresisting grasp. He was hauled all over the castle again and eventually settled at yet another table.

"I'll spot you ten silver to get you started, okay Rune?" said Thatz, setting up the Game of Life.

"Ten gold," muttered Rath, as a horde of Dragon Fighters descended on the game and threw script onto the table.

"Ten gold," echoed Thatz, less enthusiastically than before. "Who's first?"

The pile of gold in front of Rune dwindled slowly, until a few _lucky turns_ and _skilful moves_ rebuilt it again. The other dragons groaned every time Rune's luck mysteriously turned, but his face remained vacant and his heartbeat thumped on, unchanged. His two friends eventually gave up trying to liven him up and after a fair game, Rune was left with five gold and a handful of silver.

The fighters scattered and Thatz dragged a chair up to the table, sat into it and slumped over.

"I'm completely out," came from between his hands. "All we've managed is to bring everyone else down."

Rath clapped him on the back and sat down as well.

"We've tried everything that we like to do, but what's Rune's idea of fun?" asked Rath.

Thatz snorted. "I have no idea," he said. He sat up and pursed his lips. "Um, something dull, I bet, like reading a book, or picking flowers."

"Does he embroider? Most girls like to embroider," added Rath.

Then Rune spoke.

"I'm grateful for everything you've attempted to do." Rune gave a brave smile, but pain still glistened in his eyes. "I'm afraid that you'll just have to wait."

oooOOOooo

A young man walks alone by the frog's pond. He doesn't see any of the beauty in the lilies, or notice the heron by the rushes. This man is untouched by the very thing he stares so deeply into. He's hollow at the core: nothing reaches out of there, nothing penetrates too deeply.

"Happy anniversary," he whispers to the still waters. "Happy anniversary, my sweet Tintlett." He sits down beside the water, his eyes too dry to well up anymore. "It's been another year since we were married, another year since I became a Dragon Knight and another year since you fell asleep and left me all alone."


	10. Rejection

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 08 is _Rejection_. 

Warnings: The sad story of Rath and the Dragonlord's relationship.  
Size: 5.76kb

Sorry for the gap in updates, but I've not been well recently. My brain goes to mush when I get sick and hopefully it doesn't show here. A lot of the themes I've written have had angsty or sad stories, but that's what the themes have inspired. I should hopefully post a new story next week. I've have a readied draft for a while, but I'm reluctant to publish until I've a few more chapters written.

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Lykouleon looked at the small, pink mass in his arms and frowned again. He shifted the bundle around, trying to find a more comfortable way to carry it. A small squeal came from the blanket. He prised it open and looked intoa grumpy face. It still hadn't cried; the squeal was the only sound he'd heard from it so far, so the baby couldn't be human. Human children wailed all the time, from what he'd seen of them. This baby was so quiet that Lykouleon wouldn't have noticed him without Crewger. The ice-demon had taken Lykouleon's sleeve in his mouth and led him to the corpse of his twin, Illuser. Enough had died, and Lykouleon would have avoided that sight if he could - another loyal servant falling because the dragon lord was too cowardly to fight the demon king himself. Resigned, he'd reached down to attempt a proper burial of the body, when it twitched. Lykouleon had jumped back, afraid that some necromancy had taken poor Illuser and turned him to evil once more, but the body didn't rise. When he had cautiously circled the body, he had seen a small, naked and bloody baby kicking the body as hard as possible.

Lykouleon didn't know how, or why, the baby had been born, but he definitely wasn't human. The dragon lord wasn't an expert on demon propagation, but the child couldn't be Illuser's either, at least, not entirely. Royal blood had many effects, it was poisonous and meant death to those who touched it, yet it had freed Illuser and Crewger from the spell that had bound them, perhaps it had also given Lykouleon an answer to the problem that now plagued his heart. Perhaps the child could take up the dragon lord's burden when he died.

But first, he had to introduce the child to its new mother... and hope that it wasn't the evil he feared, but the future for his tribe.

He pushed open the door with his foot, poked his head around it and smiled at her before following through with the rest of his body, carefully cradling the child under his cloak. Raseleane smiled. She usually carefully posed herself - her emotions were displayed artfully, like an artist arranging features on a portrait. Since her rescue from Nadil, her face was more open and Lykouleon knew that she was truly happy to be with him. They had finally started to open up to each other and support each other.

"My lord," she sighed, a pleased smile coming easily to her lips, as she came towards him, her arms wide for an embrace.

She frowned when he dodged the hug, still unsure of their new relationship, but mollified by the light playing in his eyes. Then he lifted his arms and shook aside the cloak that kept the child from her eyes. She stared at it, emotion fleeing and the painter staring before a blank canvas once more. She lifted her brush and furrowed the brow, narrowed the eyes and twisted the lips.

"How could you?" She spat the words at him. "How dare you?"

As she pushed past him, Lykouleon fumbled, but caught the child before he dropped it. The door slammed and he stared into the sullen eyes of the only hope left for the dragon tribe.

oooOOOooo

I'm a demon! I'm a big scary demon! Rawrrr!" The boy reached up on tippy toes, twisted his fingers into claws and growled at the raven-haired dragon. "I'm going to eat you."

"Will you?" said the dragon, with a grin. "Well, I'm a brave knight and I will slay you." He pounced at the boy, reached over and tickled him.

"No! No!" he laughed. "I'm a demon. You can't defeat me!"

"You're not a demon, Rath" The cold voice cut through their play. The black-haired dragon unfurled himself and bowed. "My lord," he said.

"You can be a knight, Rath, but not a demon, never a demon!" Lykouleon shouted, marching up to the boy and towering over him.

Rath smiled. "Do you want to be the demon then?" he said shyly. "I'll be the knight and we can fight." He held out a bent stick to the stern dragon lord, who knocked it out of his hand.

"I'm too busy to play games," he said, turning away. "Ruwalk will play with you."

Rath watched him leave. The other dragon picked up the stick.

"Do you want to be the demon again?" he asked.

"No," replied Rath, flatly. "I'm a knight."

oooOOOooo

Even the dragon lord can't do everything himself," Lykouleon said, with a kind smile. "So it's important to treat people well, give them challenges and tools so that they can do their job better. Even if you want to, you can't handle everything yourself. A well-trained and loyal subordinate is worth far more than cutting your time into smaller and smaller pieces."

Rath stared out the window. Lykouleon peeked past him. The day was overcast, the grounds were empty and the leaves on the trees had yet to turn. He smiled again and walked to his pine cabinet before opening a drawer and pulling out a long, thin bundle, wrapped in a deep blue cloth.

"I had Alfeegi take this from the vault. It was my grandfather's sword and it's one of the finest blades we have," he said, releasing it from the cloth and hefting it. He ran his fingers up the blade and over the etchings on the metal. "I thought that it might be an appropriate gift for a newly confirmed knight."

He laid down the cloth and lovingly rested the sword on top of it, but Rath didn't even glance over.

"Do you want to try it out? I have some free time, what do you say? Would you take me on as a sparring partner?" he asked, his voice light, but his face strained.

"Can't, I'm too busy," Rath muttered.

The sword broke three days later.

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This was my tenth theme. I'm halfway through!


	11. Dreams

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 02 is _Dreams_. 

Warnings: I can't think of a summary. One word says it all, really.

Size: 5.62kb

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In his dreams, he's not alone: everything's quiet, perfect and unchanging. He wakes up in the same bed and falls asleep in the same, soft arms. The forest is their bedroom and the leaves are their blankets, the branches shelter them. In his dreams, they rarely speak: they follow their own paths, playing with fairies, making clay jugs and weeding stubborn plants, but whenever he raises his head he can see her; whenever he raises his head she comes running; and whenever he raises his head, he falls backwards shortly after, falls backward in the welcoming and warm drift of leaves. Then everything else disappears and it's just the two of them, one person, again.

In his dreams, gold is edible; whatever flavour you crave rocks your tastebuds and squeezing a gem spurts out the tangiest juice. Piles of jewellery are riches to the tongue as well as the wallet and he can't keep himself from eating half his horde. Crowns, after bracelets, after necklaces, after brooches slide down his gullet and into his stomach. He cries when he sees the three treasures, greatest marvel of the Dragon Tribe - he can't help it; he knows that he won't be able to hold himself back and he devours them. Oh god, the taste! The richer the object the more intense the flavour: these three marvels send shivers rippling up and down his body: Chocolate, raspberry, blueberry, cinnamon, thyme, chilli, then the new flavours, silver, gold, platinum, emerald, ruby, the ripples pulse on and on and on and he wails and moans because nothing will ever taste this good again.

In her dreams, she's fixed. She lives in a small house and though it's empty right now, it'll fill with noise when her children come home. Her life is hard, but she's happy to clean and to cook, as the smiles on their faces make everything right. The pain that throbs in her heart disappears when even one angel whispers "Mommy, I love you."

In his dreams, he's free. He can't remember his past or his name, but there's an open plain in front of him and though he's been running for hours, he's not tired and he wants to race on. A wolf joins him and he laughs. He eases up the pace, so as not to lose it, but it still tires long before he does. The plain gives way to the ocean and he dives into it, not bothering to breathe, marvelling at how easy it is. A turtle offers him a lift and he grabs on, laughing and laughing and laughing.

In his dreams, his home is filled with people: people who loved him, people who disliked him, people who hated him and people who obeyed him. He knows that something is wrong, something is missing, when he stops to pet the white dog, but it's not important now, because a friend he hasn't seen in a long time is calling to him. Why has it been so long since they've met? They share the same home.

In his dream, someone's singing. He can't make out the words, but he's scared somehow. It's dark and he's not sure what's going on. He turns around: his siblings are playing without him and he runs to catch up.

In her dreams, it's quiet. The book on her desk is unopened, but a pen stands urgently beside it. She shuns them and runs out through the window. It's spring and the flowers are blooming. In ten minutes she has to go to her first dance and she hopes to meet the handsome prince there. Tonight, the party is for her and she is the centre of attention.

In her dreams, everything means something. She hates to sleep, because she knows that her dreams will be interrogated in the morning. The world of symbols is arrayed about her, disguised in plants, flowers and hair that can't be brushed. She tries again. The lord is waiting for her beyond the door, but she can't talk to him until her hair is alright. A tooth falls out and she bends down and picks it up. She pushes it back in and grinds it down. Tonight, she will meet the lord. Her hair grows wilder. Tonight she will open the door.

In his dreams, it's always sunny. He waits for rain, the gardens need it, but somehow they thrive in dry air. Even the corn stands tall and proud. He sweeps the floor of his simple home and sits in his rocking chair. The fields grow around him; it's as if they don't need his help, so he sits and rocks and takes it easy and the world of important people passes him by, unheeded.

In his dreams, it's always cold. This is the season where it all goes wrong. This is the season where it's important to make a difference. He stands at the door, pulling the clothing from strangers, but he can't find the one he's looking for. He can't find the one that needs his help. He'd go alone, but he doesn't know the way.

In her dreams, she's truly lonely. Every door she knocks on goes unanswered and every house she breaks into is empty. The fires are lit and the food is warm, but they must flee before she gets there. She steals a ransom in gold and then leaves it at the next house. Gold is heavy and cold and slows her down. If she keeps searching, she's bound to find one that's not fast enough to get away. She's bound to discover what's happening; where everyone's going and join them.

In her dreams, she's not alone: the forest is quiet and unchanging, as it was before. There's no water, anywhere, no streams or lakes and there are no people, but her and her lover. The forest is their mother and their father. The forest keeps them safe. When they grow tired, they fall into its arms and everything disappears and it's just the two of them, one person again.


	12. Lies

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 12 is Lies. 

Warnings: break-up, L/C

Size: 4.96kb

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**It's not you, it's me.**

So that's what you look like when you lie. I'd always wondered, but now that I see the face you use, I can recognise those other occassions when you lied to me. Was it to spare my feelings that one time, when you told me ** _You look fine_**? Did you know how nervous I was at meeting your parents? Was it that overly flamboyant dress that turned your mother against me? She was given to snap judgements: maids fired, courtiers dismissed to foreign cities, prospective in-laws disgraced. Why didn't you back me up?

**You deserve someone better.**

You're not doing yourself any favours with this, Lykouleon. There's sweat forming on your upper lip, is my silence making you uncomfortable? Your face screwed up like this when I used your hands to unfurl my woolen balls. I would have been okay if you'd told me you were bored - I wouldn't have minded, but you screwed up your face and said **_No, I like to do this, really._**

**I just want to spend some time on my own.**_**  
**_

Then why are you looking to your left and not meeting my eyes. It can't be the silence - you're weathered worse than this before. How about the streams of tears that you soothed away with your sweet mistruths:_****__ I don't think you're needy._ I can't believe that I felt so safe that I cried in front of you.

**I don't have the time to devote to you right now.**

Well, you've been busy for the past twenty years - what's suddenly changed? I can help you, you know. Remember telling me_ ****__I like that we talk about important things_? I know as much about this land as you do. I can help and advise you. Lykouelon, didn't you realise that I'd planned to devote myself to you and your duty, no matter what?

**I hope that we can still be friends.**

Is my friendship important to you? Well it's conditional on you accepting buckets of love. I will serve you and I will listen to you, but I won't believe you._ ****__Everything's okay._ I'll never believe you again, Lykouleon. I won't speak to you, except civilly. Perhaps then your heart will pang and you'll see why these lies do you no justice.

**It's over between us.**

If that's true then why are you still staring at my chest? What will happen when you get drunk next? I saw you and Ruwalk on that lonely night that neither of you will speak about. I was watching from the shadows and scant years later I caught an awful sense of déja vú when you whispered_ __I don't even look at other women. _

Poor Ruwalk, poor me.

**There isn't anybody else.**

"What about Raseleane?"

Couldn't keep that in, could I? How many times did we talk about her? How many times did I hear:_ ****__She can't hold a candle to you _?

**We're just friends.**

That smile on your face says you're lying. She has it all, doesn't she? Hips, boobs, that precious inch. _****__I prefer smaller women. _ Just how tall is she, exactly?

**You're a really cool, strong person.**

You've seen me weeping into my cups; held my hair on my birthday; seen me crumple when my father died. How can you say that when you're trying to crush my spirit? I get how you work now. You mean You're going to have to be cool and strong, because I won't be there with with you just like_ ****__I'd love to spend the weekend with you_ meant I'd rather go fishing with Ruwalk and I'll see you next on monday.

**I know you'll be fine.**

The one thing you can't do is see the future. Wishful thinking that you don't quite believe? You stopped caring about me long go_. ****__I'm sorry I was late. _ That day was important to me. That day was special. Your shirt was crumpled and your eyes were wild and you offered no explanation. I couldn't say anything there and then, but you soon learned how furious I was.

**You'll find somebody else.**

In a city where no-one touches your cast-offs? You've paraded me in front of everyone. Who is there that doesn't know? Who is there that doesn't realise how badly you treated me and how little you respected me? Who didn't snigger into their tankards on the eightieth time you said_ ****__I was unavoidably delayed_? Over and over and over and over.

Do you know what that does to a girl's marriage prospects? Thanks to my blind love for you, I'll be a spinstery old maid. Poor mother died dreaming of the day that she'd be invited to _Lykouleon and Cernozura's Wedding_. That's why she left everything to my younger brother.

**I have to go.**

And attend what fire? You could stay here longer. You could spend time with me when I need you_. ****__I'll be there!_ you'd cry and you never were. I was always left standing alone - what's the diffference now?


	13. A Deadly Sin

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 6 is _A Deadly Sin_ and it's obviously vanity.

Warnings: Humour, pokes fun at Nadil

Size: 9.31kb

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The proud man wandered sliffly through the room, with a large smile on his face. "What do you think, eh?" He stopped in front of one of the mirrors. "Flawless!"

The room was covered in mirrors. If wallpaper came with a mirror finish, then the room would have been completely reflective. As it was, there were hardly any bits of wall poking through between the many frames. The floor was also littered with shiny, reflective goodness. Stand-alone mirrors vied with easels that were pressed into service. There were also a few hand mirrors suspended from the ceiling. Plaster tumbled from the ceiling as the man's bored attendants watched.

"Sire, no one will notice, but don't you think that it'd be a good idea to get a few stitches sewn in?"

The man's hand reached up to a tiny ribbon that wound once around his neck. "You're joking, aren't you? That'd leave a nasty scar and as you can see, everything's fine." The expression on his face froze, as his head turned on its side. A hand reached up and clamped it back firmly onto its neck.

"Sire!" a woman with long pale hair nestling in the clevage of her low cut dress pulled a metal contraption out of a burlap sack. It resembled a medieval torture device, like a thumbscrew, but several times the size. "It's dangerous not to use a brace. Within a few years, your neck will be able to support itself, but healing takes time."

"Don't be stupid!" The man glared at her, fingers twining deeper into his purple hair. "I'll look ridiculous if I put that on. How can I inspire fear and keep my position as lord of the demon world if I look so stupid?" He switched hands, a brief freeze signifying the changeover. "This ribbon is fine. It covers the wound, but still looks manly."

"My Lord, Nadil." A man with pale, blond hair bowed low as he spoke. "What if something happens and your head falls off?"

"Then dust it down and put it back on again. I can't have Lykouleon thinking that he cuts off my head and it's something serious. He'll gloat." Slowly, he removed the hand from his head. Moving stiffly through the room again, arms out wide for balance, he smiled. "See, no problem. It fits right back on with no ill effects." His expression froze again and the girl dived forward, with her arms outstretched. She landed at his feet. "Shyrendora?" Nadil asked. "While you're down there, can you tell me what I just stepped on?"

He lifted a foot and balanced awkwardly while Shyrendora started to get to her feet. "It's just your pink scarf, my lord."

"Ah yes," he said, stepping over it and making his way through the field of mirrors to a luxurious throne. He turned around and feeling behind him, carefully lowered himself to his seat. "No problem. I can walk and sit."

"What about eating, sire?" asked the blonde man. "How will you manage that without being able to look at your food?"

"Yes, well, as the Lord of Demons, I should be able to demand a minion to feed me. Those sorts of whims were quite popular among my predecessors. Find someone to do that and make them pretty, or amusing."

"Sire," called Shyrendora, displaying the clamp, "what happens when you sleep?"

He responded with a dismissive wave. "Fedelta wakes me each morning. If my head becomes detached in the night, he can replace it and hold it on for me while I dress."

"Shydeman?" murmured the girl, looking at her companion.

The blonde man stepped forward. "What if the dragons send an assassin and he finds you before Fedelta does?"

Nadil laughed. "Their lord cut my head off and I just plonked it straight back on. He was so scared, he shit himself. No dragon will come within ten, no a hundred miles of this place. They're terrified of me." He laughed a little more, then lifted up his arms, bracing his head between them. "Booga booga."

"Yes, my lord," muttered Shydeman. "Truly terrifying."

"Told you," crowed Nadil, settling himself further into his seat. "Now, go and prepare everyone. I'm granting an audience. They'll soon see that Nadil lacks no head."

His attendants bowed and backed out through the door. Nadil ignored their exit and focused on the mirrors, checking the ribbon that covered the line proving that the Dragonlord had indeed cleaved right through his neck. "Maybe a bigger ribbon wouldn't hurt," he said. "I'll look at that scarf again too." He stood up and moved his rigid body back to the spot where Shyrendora had prostrated herself. He wavered as he bent his knees and lowered himself enough so that he could feel around the floor. He closed his eyes as his fingers gripped onto the scarf and missed the many reflections of a door opening and three dusty figures scampering inside and hiding behind a chair. "Harder than it seems, but I'll soon have it mastered and no-one will know my little secret." He closed his eyes to laugh again and missed the reflection in every mirror of a hand lobbing a piece of plaster. The plaster sailed through the air and bounced neatly off Nadil's head, leaving a white mark: the laughter cut off as the head fell fowards.

A pair of hands caught it and restored it on his head. "Who did that?" he called, jumping to his feet and scanning the room, his hands clamped firmly to his head. When he didn't spot anyone, he let go with one of his hands and noticed white powder on it. Looking behind him, he saw the chunk of plaster. He gripped his head and looked up. "Plaster from the ceiling?" He moved away. "I'll have some of those mirrors taken down."

He sauntered back to his earlier viewing spot and looked at his neck again. "Argh!" The head looked too far to the right and jutted over the neck on his left. He realigned it carefully, pulling the ribbon out of the gap between the two where it had fallen. He covered up the mark by tying the scarf in a jaunty knot.

The next lump of plaster was much bigger and hit Nadil between the eyes. His head tumbled backwards off his shoulders and rolled away, ending up beneath the throne. His headless body wobbled and nearly fell over, before regaining balance. It reached out, then knealt down, feeling along the floor and crawling in a desperate search to find his head before Shydeman and Shyrendora returned.

Three figures emerged from behind a chair. The mirrors watched as the one with green hair creeped up behind Nadil and mimed kicking him in the arse. The black-haired one stuffed a hand into his mouth to stifle giggles, but the blond shook his head and pointed at the throne. He pulled out a bag and snuck over to it, then knealt down and stuck his hand under it, but couldn't quite reach the head. It just brushed the tips of his fingers if he stretched out.

While the blond pondered his next move, Nadil's body turned. His questing fingers found a foot and a leg and while the dusty interloper froze, he pointed at the empty space where his head should be. The trapped intruder shared a frightened glance with his giggling friend, who stopped laughing, pulled a sword out from a scabbard and advanced on the headless demon. His frightened friend gestured for him to stop. The armed intruder shook his head.

"Rath! No!" shouted the green-haired man, as Nadil's fingers tickled higher, before clamping his hands over his mouth. Nadil didn't react, slowly feeling his way up the man's body.

Rath laughed. "He can't hear you, Thatz," he said, pointing at the throne where the blonde was knealing. "His ears are over there."

Thatz heaved a huge sigh of relief, which turned to panic when he realised that Nadil's fingers were almost at his neck.

"Rune!" shouted Rath to the blonde, who turned and looked at the sword in his hand.

"Good idea," he said, drawing his own sword and spearing Nadil's head on it. He slipped the head into his bag and closed it tightly. "Let's go."

By this stage Nadil was fully upright and running his fingers across Thatz's features. He checked out his hair, then measured the intruder's height against his chest, before grabbing him so hard that Thatz squealed. Rune ran forward and kicked the headless demon lord in the groin. He released Thatz and collapsed to the ground. "Let's go," he shouted, clamping a hold of Rath and tugging him towards the door.

"But we could do it. We could finish him off!" shouted Rath. "It would be so easy. He's helpless."

"He still has magic and we don't know when his underlings will be back. Let's go!"

"Rune's right," said Thatz, sprinting to the door. "We have the head, but loot doesn't count until you're at home and spending it."

Rath grumbled, but followed quickly enough when the demon lord made it to his feet again. Nadil clenched his hand into a fist and shook it at the wall and was still there when his minions returned.

"How embarrassing," said Shydeman, looking at the scene. He stepped back out of the room and Shyrendora locked the door.

"Let's just say that he's dead."

Shydeman agreed.

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This was sort of how Nadil was going to be if he ever showed up in _Inside Tetheus's Head_. I had the head falling off every five minutes, but he wasn't quite so vain. He never showed up in that series, but I'm glad that I got to use the idea.


	14. Haunting Past

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 9 is _Haunting Past_.

Warnings: no pairings, your past is what moulds you

Size: 4.72kb

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The ghosts of everything I've ever done stand over my left shoulder. They watch, sometimes commenting, sometimes only making their presence known with their looming disapproval. They're stupid; rooted in the past, their viewpoints can never change. They can't understand, even when I explain slowly, that what I've done isn't that bad.

They think he cared. They think that I broke his little heart the day I ran off and left him penniless. That ghost is closest whenever he's around. That ghost freezes my heart when I ever think of joking around with him again. It can't see that my actions were only a game: time proved it, he bounced back.

I sold his stuff for a tenth of the price that he could have gotten and one hundredth of its true value, but the point remains that I ended up with the loot and what a haul it was. Him and his loser friends; I beat them, lived like a queen and could have retired and made a good home for myself, but I had to return to the game and play again. That proves that I stole for kicks. I didn't mean it and no-one got badly hurt.

I lost all my friends. My friends were his friends and even the ones that didn't like him stopped talking to me. They stopped trusting me. If I stole from him, then I could easily steal from them without remorse and I could too: I'm the best, the best thief in Draqueen, probably the best in the world. I could steal the knickers from the Dragonlord if I wanted to. Anyway, friends aren't of any use to me. You can't steal friends, so they can't be counted. Loot is what matters. Loot is what loves me. Money can solve every problem.

Except for those ghosts.

I must have been cursed by gypsies. Maybe if I gave back the crystal ball and apologised, these spectres would leave. I would have to say "sorry" to their graves, though. Bandits attacked the camp and they were unprepared. Just as well; who knows where the ball ended up after it was fenced. It's best not to ask these questions, just count the money and leave quickly.

Cash is cold and disloyal. It can be easily lifted and it has no marker to show who it belongs to. Possessions, goods and heirlooms, their value lies as much in the memories they hold and sentimental notions attached to them as the money you can get for them. Of course, you don't get recompense for those sentiments. When something you love is sold by a low-life, the fence doesn't care how much you loved it, or how important it was to you. He won't give it back. It's useless to rely on things: they don't last. If you can't hold on to something then it isn't really yours.

I learned early and I learned well.

There are ghosts that pushed me to steal. They're ghosts that taught me to be wary of people and that you're a sucker if you're not out only for yourself. They have familiar faces, ones that I don't want to look at too closely. No matter how fast I spin around, I couldn't see them anyway. I just kept my head down and did what was best for me. I grew up. Those ghosts faded or maybe they're crowded out by the others: the old widow's nest egg and the poor family's hidden treasure, the wails and keenings of unlucky people made poorer.

Some thieves say that drink quietens them. Others say that it only makes them louder and it makes the thief stupid. Anyone who tries to steal while drunk gets caught. I check out the competition whenever I can. These people around me - the scum and the low-lives - between them they've stolen several lord's ransoms, so why do they drink in the darkest, smelliest parts of town, near the sewage exits? Perhaps that's where I can find a stash or two.

I should have a house or a mansion by now. I've earned enough several times over, this year alone. Only a bad workman blames his tools, but the tools of my trade are expensive and they break a lot. Why pay so much for ultra thin and ultra strong wire, for gadgets and masterwork tools? I lived better when a hairpin was my only lockpick. It'll take another job to finish paying for the tiny manipulator, now lying proud in my pocket and the reason why I'm drinking boiled water tonight instead of the finest wine.

The game, that's why. The game, the high, the thrills, the stories, the envy of my peers; that's the excuse. The game validates me. The game is what I'm good at. Without it, what would I be? A failed fishmonger? A broken barmaid? A talentless tailor? Give me the life of a master thief and while you're at it, give me a new pair of non-slip shoes so that I don't have to pay premium prices to the real crooks in this business.


	15. Flavour

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 13 is _Flavour_.

Warnings: pure fluff

Size: 6.07kb

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"Okay." His laugh flavoured the darkness behind her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, struggling to sit up, but he pushed her back down.

"No peeking," he warned. She felt his body move to cradle her and then he brushed her lips with his own. She relaxed. The heat from his lap was comforting and made her drowsy, although the stone sticking into her bottom kept her from falling asleep.

He stretched and she grimaced as his body twisted beneath her and her head rested at an awkward angle. "Sorry," he apologised, his legs returning to a comfortable position. "I had to get this. Open your mouth."

She complied and then gagged as a gooey liquid dropped directly onto the back of her throat. She rolled onto her side, coughing and he stroked her back, uttering soothing noises. Eventually the coughing subsided and she rolled back. "Let's try that again," she croaked.

This time she blocked the sticky flow with her tongue and it trickled over her taste-buds, a sweet and energising rush.

She swallowed and then licked every last trace from her lips. "Mmm, honey!" she murmured.

"Correct!" he said. His body contorted once more, although he supported her head with one of his hands this time. "Next."

She opened her mouth eagerly, but puckered as soon as the first drops hit her tongue. "Eugh, sour." She wiped off the excess fluid with her fingers.

"If you don't guess, then you have to taste more," he warned her.

"Lemon juice," she moaned and pouted. "You know that I don't like sour flavours."

"And yet wasn't there something that you fed me seven times, even though you know that I can't stand it?"

She giggled. "But you made such a cute face when you realised what it was. I never thought you'd turn your nose up at food."

He grunted and his body shifted again. She opened her eyes a crack, worried that he might try to punish her with a rotten egg, or something equally gross, but he closed them with a gentle touch and a stern admonishment - "No peeking."

She lay waiting as paper rustled and there was a snap of a twig breaking. When a cold breeze drifted up under her skirt, he popped something solid into her mouth. Her tongue probed its bumpy surface and rolled it around in her mouth. Her teeth trapped a round and squishy bead between them, which broke under the pressure. Another acidic taste dripped onto her taste-buds. She swallowed it whole and rasped "raspberry," when it had gone down.

"Very good," he replied. The paper rustled again. "Say ahh."

The next one was hard and melted in her mouth. She sucked on it and murmured in delight. When the last molten droplet had been swallowed she sighed. "More chocolate, please."

"On peesh ownlee. 'At's eh roole," he mumbled.

She lifted her hands, felt around and found his face and poked him squarely in his bulging cheeks. "Only one is to be fed," she lectured. "That's another rule."

"My legs are goin to sleep," he complained, rolling her onto the hard ground. He caught her gently but she still landed with a slight bump. He checked, of course, that her eyes were still closed and mumbled "sorry", before rustling through his bag again.

He teased her with the next item, running something pliable under her tongue and around her lips. She tried to bite down on it, but he snatched the food away, leaving only a salty residue behind.

"What is that?" she asked. He responded by placing the mystery substance in her mouth and allowing her to bite off a piece. She chewed, grimaced and swallowed quickly, before demanding water. He spilled a little on her top, but she soon managed to wash the taste out. "That was horrible! It tasted like, like, eugh. It was dry, pointy - I think that it cut the inside of my mouth! It was drowning in salt. What did the poor chicken do to deserve that? Who cooked it? Rath?"

"Bingo!" he said. "Well done."

"That was cruel," she moaned. "No one deserves to eat Rath's cooking."

She felt his breath on her face as the next one brushed against her lips. Some of it dribbled onto her chin and she licked it off. The taste was sweet and juicy, with a cinnamon spice. Another brush followed and she grabbed onto the food with her teeth and licked some soft mush from it. She discovered, as she continued to lick, that the mush coated a soft, but calloused core, one that she bit slightly harder. He twitched and she cackled as best she could. He tried to pull away, but her teeth clung on and he merely succeeded in lifting her head off the ground and gaining a deeper mark on his finger. Soft kisses flowered on her cheeks and fore-head and eventually she let go and tried to catch them on her hungry mouth.

"One more," he said. "No biting."

She muttered something non committal and waited.

His breath warmed her face again, as something soft glanced off the outstretched tip of her tongue. It left a spicy, oily smear and she closed her mouth and cleaned her tongue in the sudden saliva that filled her mouth. "Is it salsa?" she asked. He didn't reply, so she swallowed and reached out her tongue again. The soft object trailed down her tongue and into her mouth. She closed her lips around it and explored the mystery as she had before. This new food was soft and flexible and even though her lips had closed, he was still manipulating it, running it around her tongue, coating her mouth in this spicy flavour. As the outer layer rubbed off, she realised that underneath was something moist which gave off a heat that was unrelated to the spices.

She reached up and grabbed his head, squeezing it, then running her fingers through his hair and scratching his neck lightly with her nails. His warm hands found her body and he rolled onto her, his sudden weight expelling the air from her lungs and the food from her stomach.

Each of them apologised and when they'd both cleaned up they moved the picnic to another area of the grounds and finished off the lot with their eyes open.


	16. Platonic Love

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 4 is _Platonic Love_.

Warnings: Rath/Rune/Thatz, but platonic,

Size: 8.58kb

Hey, only four left to go! Woot!

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Rune was fuming. Rune always fumed. The other two swapped looks behind his back as they wound him up further. People who met them wondered first how Thatz and Rath could put up with Rune's behaviour, then later how Rune managed to stay sane with companions like those.

The road forges people. Living with someone isn't as trying as travelling with them. When there's no escape from your friends, no distractions or amusement, no entertainment except for the wit and conversation of the two people you've talked with every day for the past year, relationships get strained. It's even worse when all you have to look forward to the following day is a hard slog on aching feet and there's no sympathy to go around. When you're on the road, you can't take a break from your friends, do something to let off steam, or escape for a while... not if you want to get to the next town before dark.

Irritating traits get magnified. Even reasonable behaviour becomes jarring and innocent small talk gets taken up the wrong way. With a cast of three all manner of childish games can be played, until the go-between becomes angry and a new fight replaces the old one and alliances are reforged, although Rune usually ganged up on the other two. Sometimes, Rath wondered when Rune developed the backbone he used to beat them up.

When he'd first met Rune, Rath had been a child and Rune had been unfailingly polite. It took a few years for those gentle edges to rub off and the bitter, raging sense of _unfairness_ that he carried to show itself. Rune tried to explain things calmly to the young Rath, and then firmly, then forcefully and finally loudly. For his part Rath had been confused by Rune, who was the only one to treat him so gingerly. Ruwalk had said that the water knight was like him, but Rune was soft and warm and disliked eating worms and bugs. He never let his dragon out, which was a very cruel thing for such a timid person to do.

Thatz came last to the group. He was lots of fun, but caused lots of trauma. Rath had the most fun with someone encouraging him to sneak out of the castle and go on demon killing and looting duty. Rune hated Thatz for the same reasons. He constantly harped on about the knights' duty, rebuked their side-trips and called them lead weights around his neck, yet whenever he managed to drag them home, he still sought out their company. Once, thinking that he might have figured out the cause, Rath asked if he got homesick and Rune went on for six days about the faerie forest.

He never visited. It's not as though a diversion to see his birthplace would be any more wearing than one of Thatz's jaunts to an old ruin that was rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered rich man, or that it would take them any further out of their way. In fact, some of their missions took them really close, within a fortnight's travel, but Rune never asked them if they'd mind the delay. Rath and Thatz didn't suggest a visit. They knew it could hurt Rune, although they didn't hold back from commenting on his girlish looks.

Some of the tricks they played were cruel and they always seemed to hit when Rune was moping a bit more than usual, sighing and generally slogging along without talking to the other two more than neccessary. The last caper had been a huge success or tragedy, depending on how you looked at it, and Rath and Thatz traded ideas on how to match it while Rune built up an ever greater head of steam.

Their chance came at the next stream. Rune couldn't pass by any given body of water without stripping off and jumping in. He tried, vainly, to get Rath and Thatz to join in and wash their stinking hair. They figured that it'd just get dirty again and at least their noses had gotten used to the stench. It always amused Thatz that Rune would complain about a quick side-trip of the Earth or Fire Knight, yet quite happily hold them up for hours while his hair dried beside a camp-fire. Once they hit water, the day was gone and Thatz would set up camp while Rath grew bored.

These delays left them plenty of time to plot.

Although sometimes Serendipity offered them a beautiful gift.

A clatter of female voices interrupted their moaning as Thatz put on a kettle of water to boil. He grinned at Rath when a small group of men and women came around the corner of the road and waved at them from the verge. Once they'd come closer, he shook his head with a sorry sigh.

"I have to ask you not to go any further this way," he said. "There's a lovely, slow-moving river just through the bushes, but I'm afraid that our sister is bathing there. She's a very modest girl and she asked us to keep strangers away."

The travellers looked at each other and patted down their dusty clothing. The two guys grimaced at each other and made a show of sniffing their armpits and shrugging their shoulders. Three of the girls swarmed over Thatz, who seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much.

"Please, sir," said one, a busty brunette with a mad glint in her weary eyes, "is there really an honest-to-goodness river nearby? I haven't been clean in a fortnight. There'd be no greater luxury than to bathe in fresh water."

"Yes," said her friend, who grabbed her hair and nearly pulled it out. "My hair is blonde under this muck. I fell into a sink-hole two days ago and I'm sure there's something living in it now."

The third girl just batted her eye-lashes in between her comrades' pleas.

"Look," said a woman in a chain-shirt, who had been patting down the mules and checking the straps that held their belongings in place. "I respect that your sister asked you to keep a watch out - no woman wants someone to find her while she's vulnerable and when you're wet and naked is the worst - but we're tired and dirty. I'm sure that she wouldn't mind if some fellow women joined her. I bathe with other girls all the time and some of them are quite prudish."

"Well..." mumbled Thatz.

"I can understand that she'd want you to keep men away, but I bet that after all this time in male company, she'd like a bit of girl-talk."

"Yes, girl talk," agreed Busty.

"Oh she'd be delighted to share with us," agreed the mucky blonde.

The eye-lash girl batted twice more and one of the goons in the back flexed his fingers near the hilt of his sword.

"Of course," answered Thatz, keeping a wary eye on the goon. "I'm sure she'd be delighted."

"Let me just warn her first!" blurted Rath, who sped down the path Rune had followed, nearly tripping over several roots. He pushed grasping branches aside and emerged beside the river. He quickly spotted his friend, indulging in a lazy back-stroke. "Rune," he sang over the waters to the swimming Water Knight. "Some other people want to use the river and they're really nice and really dirty and Thatz said that it'd be okay."

Rune waved at him and started to swim back.

Rath sniggered before adding. "Don't be a prude, after all, you're all girls, right? Okay, thanks, bye."

Rune stopped mid-stroke and dived under the water when a cascade of women flowed down the bank and into his river. The chick who had been in chainmail reached under the water to pull his head back up. "It's okay, relax," she said, before ducking under the water. Rune's hands clamped over his chest and crotch and stayed there even after she re-surfaced. She shook her hair, spraying water over Rune, who crouched lower in the water and couldn't remove his eyes from her exposed body. "Aaaaah," she sighed, running her fingers through the wet and tangled mass. "Do you have any soap?" Rune pointed up to his bundle of clothing. His arm snapped back under the water when a busty lady retrieved his soap and shared it around.

Rune sank lower, the water tickling his nostrils as they lathered up, gossiped, frolicked and splashed each other. He grew wrinkled and cold, barely moving as he was, until night fell fully and he was sure that every last one had left the river. He crept up to the bank, jerked on his clothing and snuck back to the fire to have a word with the other knights.

Rath and Thatz stopped running when they reached Draqueen and managed to hide behind Tetheus. Rune gave out for two days solid and swore blind that he'd never go on a mission with them again. The following morning he sat down beside them and civilly commented on the weather over breakfast. Two weeks later he was packing again, carefully hiding the bail money and squeezing in extra bandages for Rath.


	17. Transparent Feelings

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 10 is _Transparent Feelings_.

Warnings: Raseleane/Lykouleon, nudity, false hope

Size: 8.81kb

Given _A Suitable Bride_ this should have been an obvious choice. Nearly done with this challenge. Thanks to everyone who's stuck it this far. Hope you enjoyed reading some of the stories on the way.

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The sun's rays slowly creeped into their hideaway, its fingers tickling her toes and then crawling up her leg as she dozed on. He stirred. A breeze following the heat of the sun trickled up his back and raised goosebumps on his bare flesh. He squeezed her closer and nestled his face into her long, dark hair. Drool soon matted his springy pillow.

Restless as always, she turned in her sleep, her head remaining behind as her naked body moved, trapped by her lover. She twitched and jerked her head several times, the motions growing stronger. He snorted and lifted his head. "Sum'tin up, Ras'leen?"

Her eyes flashed open. "We did it again," she moaned, before grabbing her hair and pulling it out from under him. He rolled over while she blinked outside, into the light. "We fell asleep!" she said. He grabbed her and buried his face in her lap.

"Oh well," he muttered, "might as well enjoy the lie-in."

She tensed her muscles, turning her comfortable lap into thighs of rock. "Again, Lykouleon!" she groaned. "Again! Do you remember what happened last time? Do you remember the trouble it caused?" She cast her eyes about, scanning the ground surrounding the soft, white blanket they'd spent the night on. "Do you know where my clothes are?"

"Clothes!" He jerked bolt upright and banged his head on the root ceiling that kept them from view. A rough edge opened a cut on his forehead although he ignored it as he lifted up the blanket and checked under it, as though the flat pile could have hidden his evening suit. Three drops of blood dripped down from his head and spotted the blanket.

They had slept under a tree whose roots had formed a Traveller's Rest: a hollow away from rain and prying eyes, where weary travellers or courting couples could attend to their needs in safety and privacy. Lykouleon crawled through to the edge of the root mass and looked through the gaps in their wooden wall to scan the area outside. "I don't see..." he muttered, before tensing suddenly. "There's something white over there. It could be clothing!"

"Quick," urged Raseleane, pushing him out of their hole. "Before someone comes."

Lykouleon ducked, checking left and right before running out to grab the mystery, white, possible clothing. Raseleane watched him, blood rising with her lover's every naked step. She winced as he started to hop and limp alternatively; the ground had many sharp rocks and twigs. She fidgeted, running her fingers through her hair, wincing again as they got stuck in the tangled mess of knots and fuzz.

"Crap," she said, working her fingers from the bottom, pulling and teasing the hair apart.

As she fought with a stubborn knot, Lykouleon hit the dirt and rolled under a bush, feet away from the unknown garment. Raseleane hunkered down, unable to see what had startled him, even as his hand crept out from under the bush and inched toward the clothing.

The low buzz of conversation drifted over the plants and through the branches of the trees to Lykeouleon's ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and stretched further, raising furrows in the rough dirt as it scraped his skin. His fingertips brushed sodden cotton as the voices grew clearer.

He cursed into the dirt with Alfeegi's laugh. Fingers spasmed and released the cotton as his body exhaled every last drop of energy. He lapsed, breathing in fungus spores and the heady smell of earth, awaiting the inevitable 'Your Highness!' Eyes twitched and energy returned to his head, enough to lift his gaze as it failed to materialise. Alfeegi's laugh carried over to him once more, along with light, soothing tones and the perfumed smell of false flowers: the scent of a woman.

The Dragonlord, Lord of Draqueen, Lover of Raseleane and Employer of Alfeegi slid out from under his bush and crept across the open ground to the dubious cover of another plant that was closer to Alfeegi. The cotton garment remained behind.

Crawling under the new bush, a joyously leafy hedge of some sort, he parted the leaves enough to frame Alfeegi and his companion. The green-haired Dragon Officer leaned easily against a low stone wall, nodding and smiling as his friend - a young, dark-haired woman that Lykouleon didn't recognise - nattered away, mouth moving faster than Rath when he'd broken something old or expensive. Her story came to some sort of conclusion when Alfeegi bowed and she clapped - her cheeks flushed. Alfeegi rose again, standing straighter and taller than he ever had before. He reached behind the wall and broke off the stem of a fern. Twirling it in his fingers, he said something that his friend hadn't heard. She leaned closer and he flicked the stem, lashing her gently on the ear with the feathery fern. She jumped back, clapping her hand to her ear and giggling helplessly. Alfeegi advanced on her, fern outstretched and she ran away, glancing behind to make sure that Alfeegi was following, slowing down when he did and speeding up when she realised his trick.

Lykuoleon watched as much as he could from his vantage point, mouth slipping further and further open, until it scraped the ground. Eventually he rolled out from under his hiding place and retrieved the cloth garment. It turned out to be a cotton shirt, with lacy collars and tiny buttons that his fingers fumbled over. He pulled it over his head, grimacing as the damp cotton clung to his body. He ignored the collars, letting them fall open as he checked for the next item of discarded clothing, hoping for breeches.

Suddenly catching sight of furious waves from Raseleane he turned around to see Ruwalk.

"Your Highness," said the smiling man, the Dragonlord's longest friend.

"Ruwalk!" Lykouleon hailed him and scooted closer, a pasted smile echoing his Officer's.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows.

"Actually..." Lykouleon coughed and leaned over the hedge. "Have you see any clothing?"

Ruwalk's smile dropped and he hit his hand with an open palm. "You haven't done it again, have you?" He looked at his silent friend, before rising up on tip-toes and slowly peering over the hedge.

The Dragonlord pushed him back "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "Not after everything that happened last time. I uh, just saw Alfeegi running past and ... he was ..."

"Ah," said Ruwalk.

"I was hoping to cover for him. He deserves a break, you know?"

Ruwalk nodded. "I'll keep my eyes open and if anything's found, I'll send it back to him."

"Yeah, thanks," said Lykouleon, his face freezing for a moment. "A-ha, well, you look that way," he pointed toward the lake "and I'll look around here some more."

The Dragon Officer clicked his heels together, saluted and wandered off, leaving his Lord with a pained expression on his face. He retreated back to his love nest and his wife.

"There's something about a man in a loose shirt..." said Raseleane, snuggling up to her beloved before recoiling.

"Dew," sighed Lykouleon. "It'll dry."

"No trousers?" she asked, picking up the blanket and shaking it out.

"Not yet," he admitted. "The shirt on its own isn't really useful for me. Do you want to wear it? In case we're found out."

"That's okay," she said, shaking her head. "I'll just wrap the blanket around me. It'll work as a dress from a distance." She pulled the blanket around her and tucked one corner under her arm, but stopped before folding the opposite side into place. Instead she stared at the drops of blood that spoiled the pure, white fleece.

"Something wrong?" he asked, reaching out and stroking her arm.

"Nothing," she said, tucking it into place and hiding the stain in the blanket, but not the light in her eyes. "Everything's fine!"

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Yes, I wanted to write some Lykouleon/Raseleane porn. Well, not porn, but then the ending hit me and I realised that it suited _Transparent Feelings_, then thought that it didn't, then started to write another, but finally gave in. How confusing.

Basically, I didn't want to up the rating for a single story, so there's not much sexiness. Didn't the last theme have a naked Rune in it? Man. I have to get that M fic out of me.

Until then, plese read _Dragon Knights Sentai_. It's a thirteen chapter fic that's being edited and posted. I'm fond of it now, but I'm sure that in a year, I'll think that it's crap. There's no M rating on it and no yaoi. Het goodness, all the way... Except possibly for the end, but that's only if you read between the lines.


	18. A Natural Disaster

This is for the 20 Themes challenge on Live Journal. Theme 19 is _A Natural Disaster_.

Warnings: Time for a new look at things, this is a sweetly romantic one that came to me after reading one of Cairnsy's stories.

Size: 5.96kb

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It only took a few words this time, not even a quick smile and it was already too late. A brief "Good morning", a young girl's cheeks flushed and another heart was lost to the man-monster. Whether it was the artless sensuality or his easy-going manner Tetheus didn't know, but whatever it was that made Kai-Stern so good at his job had a number of downsides. He moved through the crowd, leaving minor ripples that turned into devastating waves at certain points. Warm, accessible, the damage was doubled when they realised that it was just a face he showed, that he didn't really mean that they were special to him when he flashed a smile

Two words, a simple greeting, a flushed smile and another soul was lost. He didn't do it on purpose, but those talents caused untold trouble. Tetheus sighed as Kai-Stern walked past. Love-sickness was worse than measles: sure people died from measles, but some recovered. This week alone three fighters had injured themselves pulling flashy tricks to draw his attention, another avoided Kai-Stern so avidly that he was in constant motion around the castle, and Lady Raseleane now had a full complement of Ladies-in-staring-at-the-ceiling-and-playing-with-their-hair.

If only Lykouleon could send him to Nadil on a diplomatic mission, where he'd really do some damage... although every time he left, the castle pined. Sex gods - can't live with them, can't live without them.

Kai-Stern stopped just before he rounded the corner and turned back to wave at an exasperated maid, who'd a bundle of laundry to manoeuvre through the bulky crowd. She caught the gesture and her knees buckled. Tetheus grimaced and pushed his way through the crowd, a little more roughly than required.

The worst thing about the love-sickness was the sudden relapses. Tetheus's right-hand man had turned to jelly the previous night after Kai-Stern spent too long chatting to one of the new recruits. They'd already spent three tear-stained nights working through this, eating ice-cream and sharing feelings only to have that that tortuous time thrown aside for new weeping.

Was there so little to do that Kai-Stern obsessed them all?

Fighters who can't fight, cooks who can't cook, maids who can't wait, even the darnas seemed to cower in their stables and sulk.

Tetheus had seen too many people ruined, lives destroyed by unthought smiles and unconscious flirts. Kai-Stern practised on them, he was sure - the castle was a tempering ground for his alluring arts, the laboratory where he perfected his virus and tested it out.

And when all was said and done, after the sickness left the system, somehow the person was never the same again - the passion, the zest, the oomph was gone.

Shaking his head, Tetheus stalked off towards the stables. The darnas were restless - how unusual - and he took his time choosing a mount. By the time it was saddled and ready to go, an honour guard had formed: loyal officers, or wounded fools escaping the object of their torment? He said nothing and led them out for a small jaunt through the country, a patrol and nothing more. They went further than he'd thought, parading through a few of the villages that dotted the plains.

It was in the very centre of one of these that the beast struck. It lashed out, toppling Tetheus from his darna and scattering the guard. Tetheus rolled to his feet, displaying none of the embarrassment he felt, sure that it'd disappear when he drew his sword and paid back the filthy beast.

His guard, those that were not occupied reassuring the darnas, darted in and out, drawing welts on the beast's hide, but little more, before Tetheus waded in for his pound of flesh. The guards' attacks kept it off balance and it discounted Tetheus as a force to be reckoned with, even turning its back on him to claw at a fleeing fighter. One sweep of Tetheus's sword proved its folly and it turned on him, rearing onto its hind legs and towering over the dignified dragon with a bellowing roar. The Black Officer jumped back, avoiding a claw and lashing out as it retreated. The beast snarled and charged, taking Tetheus down, but leaving its back exposed to the scratches and bruises inflicted by his guard.

Tetheus - pinned by the mighty animal - blocked the beast's bite by lodging his sword in its mouth. The sharp edges bit into the soft corners of its mouth and Tetheus gritted his teeth and began to push the blade further. As it pulled its head back, the blade followed and any attempt to push it aside with a paw merely caused further injury. Tetheus ignored the many bleeding wounds from the animal's frantic batterings and it slowly retreated. The further it went, the more reach that gave Tetheus and eventually he was able to regain his feet, while still threatening the creature.

He finally pulled his sword back, slicing the tender mouth further and the beast snarled with rage. It charged at its tormentor who dropped into a braced stance, his sword held like a lance. The creature impaled itself on Tetheus's sword without realising and fell confused to the ground. It wheezed and spluttered, dark blood flowering on its fur and framing the upright blade. Tetheus grabbed the hilt and pulled the sword free, before putting the beast out of its misery.

He remounted the darna handed to him by a cowed follower, far more slowly than he'd left it and led the way home without a word. In the days before Kai-Stern had arrived at the castle, he would have eaten ten of those for breakfast and had room for more.


End file.
